Therapy for the Clinically Jackassed
by The Cake Genius
Summary: Karkat does not need to be in Well's Recovery Center. Nope, he is just fine... fine as long as he ignores the stitches on his wrists. Unfortunately, the memory of a stupid, stupid boy and the begrudging new friendship he makes with this skinny bipolar kid (whom he should NOT be roomed with) beg to differ. Eventual SolKat, multichaptered.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck. I do not own anything. I do not own my brain. 8D**

**Warnings: There will be some triggery stuff later on, and probably citrus. I thought you ought to know.**

**A/N: Okay, so I'm finally posting this special saga. There will be weekly updates unless something goes horribly awry. I caught all errors I possibly could, but if you find more, it's okay to let me know. Reviews are like the chocolate to my granola bar.  
**

**Lastly, this fic will be dedicated to my wonderful moirail, BeyondTheMyth.**

* * *

Fuck.

If you asked me to describe the condition of my situation, I could describe it in that one, beautifully versatile word: FUCK.

Of course, that description would be in simplest form, if you will, and I never leave things in their simplest form.

There is fuck on five tiers. First: Fuck me for doing this shit. Second: Fuck my dad for sending me here. Third: _Fuck_, my wrists burn. Fourth: Fuck you for caring, and fifth: all the fucks I GIVE.

One of my hands holds the wrinkled admission papers while the other clenches the handle of the suitcase at my side, my nails digging into my palm bringing tiny stings that are _almost_ enough to allow me to breathe. I tug my sleeves down one last time.

Wells Recovery Center doesn't look like an exactly _welcoming_ place, but hey. I'm fucking used to that shit. Of course, my shit is of another kind, more contained. My shit hides, it's not kept somewhere so... big. And white. And... looming, I guess would be the nice, emo word for it. As I walk closer, the doors seem all the more menacing. As I walk up the concrete steps, hauling up my pack- _one, two, three- _I shut my eyes tightly for a few seconds. My nails dig more sharply into my palm.

I snap open my eyes, steel my breath, and push my way through.

I'm struck first by the extreme cleanliness of the place; the shiny walls that reflect the brightly flourescent lights and the smudges of recent mopping, tiny lines on the floor like whispers; tiny fake smiles and _you're-not-welcomes._

I internally reply, _shut up._

"Are you the new patient?"

I jump. The woman had come in front of me out of nowhere, though she towers over me. Everything about her screams of overwarm intimidation, right up to her wide, coffee-stained grin and cheery donut earrings. I scowl and clench my fist again to quell the distinct thudding of my heart against my ribcage.

"Well, dear?" she prompts, patience already wearing thin like stale, artificial sweetener.

I make sure my admission papers are uncrumpled and thrust them at her. "Karkat Vantas," I say loudly- too loudly. My voice rebounds at me from the walls, deafening: _Karkat Vantas, Karkat Vantas._

She flips through the forms, cherry-red lips pursed. "Is your parent or guardian here?"

I swallowed. "He just left. He signed, though- see?"

"Mm."

I prickle. _Jesus_, what more does she want from me? I open my mouth, words bubbling hotly on my tongue, but she takes my bag, pivots, and briskly walks down the hall, leaving a breadcrumb trail of yet more echoes.

"This way, please," she calls over her shoulder, and my words die unspoken in my mouth. I hesitate, indignant, the soles of my shoes sticking to the floor. _Pause._

_Wait._

_Play._

I put one foot in front of the other, following her noise and watching myself from under my hair. I watch the progression of my feet, Karkat's feet, and his hands are in his pockets and he looks a little tired.

When she stops, it takes me couple moments to realize it, and I almost bump into her. I breathe in sharply when I notice my nose an inch from her back. I almost stumble, but right myself again, scolding my few seconds of clumsiness. At this rate, I'm almost as bad as John.

Suddenly, the nurse-like creature is all sweetness and gentle movements. She knocks softly on the door and croons, "Sollux."

A muffled mumble of recognition replies from within.

"You room mate is here."

I wrinkle my nose. _Room mate? Wait, wait, what the-_

She opens the door and I am firmly pushed in. Slippery Floor: 2. Karkat: 0.

I take a short stock of the room: two beds, one empty, one window (closed and locked. On the other bed, a boy sits hunched over a laptop computer.

"Get along, you two, and I'll see you at dinner time! What time, Sollux?"

"Theven 'o' clock sharp." Damn, that's a grade-A lisp.

"Right!"

The door closes, and I repress the urge to flinch at the abrupt noise.

My "room mate" doesn't een look up from his screen, but the glow from it illuminates soft mop of honey-blonde hair and reflects a glare from his glasses. Though I cant see much of his face, I can see the sharp marble of his spine and the almost-wings of shoulder blade protruding from his striped polo shirt, and long, gangly, jean-clad legs that brace him against the floor. I scan his bare, pale forearms, and-

Oh.

_Oh._

Is that why they roomed us together?

No, no, look, Karkat, you dumbass. There are only two on each, and the scars are so _thick_ and so _white_ and that... that's a suicide attempt, not a bunch of half-assed little scratches.

Holy shit.

_Holy shit_, I've been roomed with a suicidal.

What the fuck. What the everloving fuck. What have I gotten myself _into?_ Did they seriously think I was trying to _kill myself?_ Because no, this is way out of my league...

"You're the Vantas guy?" he says, butchering my name and still not looking up from his computer.

"U-uh, yeah. Wait, did they-"

"- tell me? No. I listen to then talk when they think they're being quiet."

Okaaaay. "You're Sollux, then?"

"The one and only."

"Weird name."

"You're one to talk."

I stand there for a bit, rocking on the balls of my feet, and then make my way over to the bed across from his. The mattress is hard, and creaks slightly when I shift my weight.

It isn't mine.

I glance back at Sollux, who quickly snaps his head back down. Was he staring at me? Creepy guy. He has square glasses, though.

Oh, hell.

"So you're a self-harm guy," he says casually, sending a jolt through my veins.

"And why the hell would you think that?!"

"The self-harmers are always the ones with the long sleeves."

I swallow hard, my cheeks heating up. "Well, screw you and your piss-ignorant, biased assumptions. I mean, what the_ fuck_, you don't just go around saying shit like that, so why don't you go ahead and shut your damn mouth before your head goes even farther up your ass!" I huff, shame prickling under my skin.

He shrugs.

I blink as hard as possible and breathe in small shivers. He had no _right-_

Then I remember that he has scars, too, and that he has every damn right.

I stare at my knees. He stares at his screen.

In a minute, the quiet, clicking sound of his fingers against keys halts, and I snap my head back up. We're sitting exactly parallel, me with my hands clenched, him adjusting his glasses. I notice that one of his eyes is blue, the other hazel. And that his hair sticks up in the back, in addition to his damn _glasses. _But the important thing is that we're actually looking at each other, albeit warily, secrets scribbled like occult prayers on our arms.

"What's you're first name, anyway?" he finally asks.

"Karkat," I reply. I don't jump. It's the first thing that's come easily out of my mouth the whole day.

"Karkat Vantas?"

"... Yeah."

"Sollux Captor."

My mouth twitches at the corners in a second cousin once-removed of a smile, because he even manages to fuck up the sound of his own name.

I nip the inside of my cheek.

He types one more thing, closes the top of his computer, and sets it aside. I almost feel like I'm receiving special treatment. "What's your favorite color?"

"Huh?" I'm actually taken aback.

"What's your favorite color?" he repeats as if it's the most obvious thing in the world for two dysfunctional freak boys to be discussing while trapped in a house for loonies and lost causes. "What, you don't have a favorite color? Dude, that's sad."

"Um... I like blue, I guess." I give him a look. "why the fuck are you asking me?"

"I like blue, and also red." He nods, ignoring my second question. "Favorite movie?"

I figure out finally that in the half-hour we have before 'theven 'o' clock sharp,' we might as well pretend that we aren't two dysfunctional freak boys to be discussing while trapped in a house for loonies and lost causes. We might as well pretend that neither one of us has ever stood on the brink of death and peered down into its abyss. I might as well just watch the lights glint off his glasses and his odd hair, and he might as well ask me questions without caring about the answers. Before seven 'o' clock sharp, we might as well pretend to be normal.

* * *

**Well, please review. I hope to be updating soon. That's all I really have to say.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck. I do not own ex-acto knives. I do not own Will Smith, Final Fantasy, the Beatles, or ANYTHING, GODDAMMIT.**

**A/N: This is a short chapter- more of a drabble than anything else, really. :/ But chapter three is much longer! Please hold on for that one.  
**

* * *

I find out that Sollux Captor likes programming, 3D movies, Final Fantasy, horror RPG's, dubstep, and honey on toast. I tell him that Karkat Vantas wants to program, likes soap operas, romcoms, the Beatles, and strawberry pancakes (like Mom used to make them, but I don't tell him that). He doesn't like asparagus, birds, or Will Smith (to which I reply with a ten-minute, much-needed rant). Well, I don't like freaky nerds with lisps. He laughs at me and says he doesn't either, which makes me feel like shit again, but we brush it off and continue our banter until he looks down at his watch and tells me it's time for dinner.

I tensely follow him down the dorm-littered halls and down a flight of stairs to a room not far from where I entered about an hour ago.

In this room, the walls each have a sign flashing "DINER," split by a long, plastic table lined on either side with girls and boys- mostly girls- sitting down in a way that almost reminds me of the military. Women in all similarly clean, white nurses' outfits circulate the table, putting food in front of us in bowls the contents of which give the impression of being measured with the precision of an ex-acto knife. I eye the mushy, creamy pasta salad and apple slices dubiously.

The room is silent except for the scraping sounds of spoons against dishes and the sloshing meal. I wrinkle my nose and poke at it wit my own spoon.

Sollux, next to me, leans over slightly. "You have to eat all of it," he tells me quietly.

"Why?"

"You see those kids at the other end?" He jerks his head. I follow the motion with my eyes. The kids at that end seem to be younger, mostly pre-adolescent girls, which shocks me for a moment. No one that young should be in a place like this...

I keep watching them, how they hunch over their pasta with their hair tied back. Their hands tremble with each bite, all the same, always taking the same few seconds for the same three pieces of pasta.

Sollux tells me, "Those are the ones here for eating disorders. Because of them, we all have to eat the same." He turns back to his own food.

I can't stop staring at them. I pull my elbows inwards. "Like... anorexics and stuff?"

Sollux slurps from his water glass. "And stuff."

I blink. Hell, how old are they, really? They're definitely too young to be starving themselves...

I turn back to my own food. It stares up at me with carbohydrated blankness. I pick up the spoon and eat.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Basically, I only own my brain, and barely even that. The closest I will ever get to owning Karkat is this. If I did own him, I would just be hugging him 24/7 and feeding him the chocolate caramels which I also do not own.**

**A/N: Lots of thanks to all the anonymous/guest reviewers! I appreciate anons just as much as I do all the people who have accounts, so it makes me a little sad that I can't reply to some people directly, but I love you just as much! ;;-;; Here, have a chapter.  
**

* * *

_"Do you ever wonder what it would be like to fly?" he asked._

_I ceased nibbling at my popsicle for a moment in order to stare at him. He was sitting next to me on the concrete steps of his white-washed house, looking at the sky intently through his overlarge glasses. He moved as if he were on a swing, rocking forward and back, his skinny legs shooting out, and then returning to the step; in and out, in and out, shhk-chk, shhk-chk. The backs of his knees were luna moth-green, and his mouth was stained in blue._

_"No, I never really thought about it." I looked away and licked my popsicle again- cherry. I swallowed the corn syrup sweetness and kept my feet firmly on the step. "Why?"_

_He now gave me a look. "Why not?"_

_I raised my shoulders. My sweater itched against my skin. "I dunno. Just haven't. What, have _you_?"_

_He grinned widely, displaying his buckteeth in all their big, white glory. "Yeah, all the time! I think I wanna fly a plane when I grow up, or maybe a rocket! Ooh, I could go to outer space! Wanna go to outer space, Karkat?" His rocking became faster- shuk-ah, shuk-ah._

_I laughed._

_He was still going a thousand miles an hour. "We could be astronauts together!" He jumped up, his popsicle dropping to the ground, forgotten. The shuk-ah-ing stopped. "Come on!" He grabbed my hand and pulled me into his house, even though I stuck my dessert into my mouth and dragged my heels. John was stubborn, and I didn't really mind it when he was acting dumb (which was always). _

_His hand was a little boy-hand, warm and sticky with sugar, but I didn't mind that, either. I just thought about my favorite movies as I studied with much trepidation but little integrity, the fact that our little boy-hands fit perfectly together, and how the backs of his knees expanded and contracted like he was still punching holes in the wind that read: _Property of John Egbert, best friend and fellow astronaut of Karkat Vantas.

* * *

Beepbeepbeep.

Alarm clock... Monday... school... warm, don't wanna-

Wait. School? It's summer, and...

... Oh.

I burrow deeper into the blanket and no, it's not mine, doesn't smell like home, isn't piled up with old DVD cases.

My whole body hurts.

I feel a jab on my shoulder. "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." Lispy guy- Sollux. Right.

"Go fuck yourself," I growl.

"Well, look who's a morning person."

"It's too early to insult you good. Let me fucking _sleep_, douchenozzle." I mean to sound menacing, but it comes out as more of a whine.

The blanket is pulled back from my assumed pillbug position (TOOFUCKINGBRIGHT), and I cringe and blink until I can properly glare at my asshole room-mate. He's already dressed, and I wonder for a moment if he even slept at all.

"You don't want to miss breakfast," he states.

My scowl deepens, but I push myself up, trying and failing to keep my sigh internal.

My pyjama's are a pair of sweatpants and an old, long-sleeved T-shirt. He turns away as I root through my still-unpacked suitcase and settle on the extremely creative ensemble of jeans, a plain shirt, and the same sweatshirt I've been wearing, washing, and re-wearing for the past year. It makes me look like a douche, but hey. I guess that's accurate.

When Sollux leaves, I trudge behind him, running a hand through my curls in an attempt to work out their constant tangles. I watch his feet and automatically match my own pace to his, which is weird because his legs are so much longer than mine. It crosses my mind that I have to face _people_ again, and I want to scour out the inside of my skull with Brillo.

There isn't a clean spot on my wrists.

I keep my head low and sit next to Sollux so that I won't have to watch little girls cry over their cereal. Everything is mud in my mouth.

"So," he finally ventures to say. "Group this morning."

_"What."_

"Group therapy." He takes a bite of his honey-puffed cereal. "Group's on Mondays, and we have Individual Therapy tomorrow."

I huff. "Bullshit."

He manages to laugh even at this (I'm sure) ungodly hour, even if in short, sharp bursts. "Yeah, pretty much."

I duck my head and pretend I'm not here until my body carries me with the rest of them. We end up in a big, carpeted room. I plop myself on the ground next to Sollux and pull my knees up to my chest.

Eventually, the rest of them finish filing in and form an approximate circle. We're joined by a woman in a long, flowing skirt and big earrings who sits in a chair at the top of the circle, about a quarter of the way from Sollux and me.

She claps a bit. "All right, everyone!" I already dislike this person. "We have a new friend joining us today." Oh, _hell_, no.

She aims her bone-knife smile right at me, and I think I'm going to be sick. "What might your name be?"

I pretend that I know how to breathe as I unhinge my jaw for a moment to force out, "Karkat."

"Karkat...?"

"Vantas."

Her eyes crinkle. She looks constipated. "Very good." Oh, fuck me, do I get a gold star now? "You can call me Christie. And what have you joined us here for?"

I freeze. The circle of eyes pierces me from around the room. My blood pumps through my heart in burning spikes.

Her lips purse. "What are you being _helped _for?" she prompts. I glance at Sollux, who is staring at the wall. My eyes blur the place where his hairline meets his neck.

I swallow. "I have a problem with... I mean, it's not really a huge problem, but..." heat rises, prickling, to my cheeks. "I, um... I'm here for self-harm."

I pick at the rug. Forest green. I feel like I've been stripped completely naked.

"And Sollux is your room-mate?"

"M-hm." You already _know_ that, you piss-poor _bitch _excuse for a civilized human being, I _hate _you, you _perverted_, little-

"Well, it's good that you can communicate your issues to us. That's a big step. That's why we all go around the circle and tell each other why we're here."

I sweep my eyes around the circle, and feel intense pity for everyone else here who's had to be stripped naked.

"Clarissa, why don't you start?" she says to a curvy girl next to her.

The girl sighs. "Hi," she says, gazing out at us with feigned indifference. "My name is Clarissa. I'm bulimic. I'm improving."

_Oh, _I think.

"Hi," the girl next to her announces. This one pushes her knees down with her hands. "I'm Emily. I self-harm and I have EDNOS. I'm improving." Wait, what the hell is Ed-nose?

The circle continues, with answers that are both announced and murmured. Some of them starve. Some of them binge. Some of them cut. Some of them are suicidal. Some of them smoke substances I've never even heard of before. Some of them drink. A couple of people refuse to speak, and one of them begins to cry mid-sentence, but they all say, "I'm improving."

I wonder how much of it is actually true.

When the domino chain of shame and 'Issues' arrives at Sollux, I hold my breath. He continues to stare at the wall.

He says in a practiced monotone, "Hi. My name is Sollux. I've tried to commit suicide twice." _Twice?_ Shit. I mean. Wow.

"And?" the therapist prompts him further.

Sollux sighs. "_And _I'm being treated for bipolar disorder, and probably insomnia."

We all wait, holding our collective breath for the sentence that confirms our feigned normalcy. The blond stares at the wall. "I'm improving."

Goddammit, Sollux Captor, you're lying through your teeth.

* * *

The rest of the day feels surprisingly normal. My summer math sheets arrive through the mail, and I halfway work on it in a silent, library-ish room with my fellow invalids. We have lunch, walk around the building a few times afterwords, and then we're let back to our rooms until dinner.

I stick next to Sollux's side the entire time. His silence is a comforting one, as compared to the smothering feeling of the silence of the rest of them. He's probably annoyed with me already- come on, who would want _me _as a room-mate?- but he doesn't say anything, so I refuse to leave him.

I sit on the bed that was assigned to me and remember the dream I had. I tell myself that it was a relief; I usually have nightmares. But the memory of it refuses to leave my heart, like a leaden weight.

I stare up at the blank ceiling. Its corners stare back. I do remember that day, like a city remembers a slowly-receding fog. We were seven.

John wanted to be all sorts of things: a pilot, and astronaut, a writer, a baker, a tobacco-shipper, movie-director. He flitted between his dream jobs obsessively, filling spiral notebooks with his plans, and then abandoning them. His dreams were all right, since I still have no fucking idea of what I want to be. When I left, he was planning to be a sailor.

I wonder if he's noticed yet that I'm gone.

Probably not.

"Hey," Sollux says. "KK."

I pull my eyes away from the ceiling. "What?"

He flashes me a shit-eating grin. "Nothing."

I throw my pillow at him, and he laughs- again, in breaths that disappear as soon as they hit the air. I examine his face and try to find out what godforsaken humor he can see in this situation. His hazel eye is ever-so-slightly larger than the blue one. His thin mouth twitches as he rights himself, his bones sliding together like disjointed sheets of ice.

I feel lost between the ground and the sky, waiting in the empty space to fall or soar.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I in no way own this material, bluh, bluh. (Maturity.)**

**A/N: THE GIGAPAUSE. O_O EXCUSE ME WHILE I HAVE A LIFE CRISIS.  
**

**Also, my email is glitching up for some reason, so if I ever reply to you a little late, that's why.**

* * *

I blink, expecting an alarm. I huddle under the thin covers, groggy. But there is no noise except for faint chirping of birds and my own rustling.

I blink blearily at the digital clock at my bedside, and then flop back down. 6:12 AM.

I grumble and cover my head with the pillow. I want to scream. Why can't I fucking rest?

I expect Sollux to be up already, given his promptness the previous morning, but when I peak out of my pillow sanctuary to steal a glimpse of him, I can see that he's soundly asleep, turned away from me. Both his limbs and his hair are sprawled around messily, like splattered paint. I watch his torso expand and contract as he breathes.

The room is full of pale light and stillness, and I'm almost afraid to move in case of breaking it. I have the nervous feeling I get while looking at masterpieces in museums: if I touch one thing, I'll ruin it.

I match the pace of my breathing to his and stare through the miles and miles of emptiness that stretch between us. I realize that I'm cold, and that fact repeats itself like a psalm through my mind, one clear fact that I hold on to and bring close to my heart: _KK is cold, cold, KK, KK is cold._

When the alarm blares through the pristine, surreal moment, Sollux doesn't wake up. My arm is filled with lead, but I reach up anyway and shut it off. I wait for ten seconds, then crawl out of my bed, blurring the light, smearing the painting.

I quickly change, then slowly make my way over to my room-mate. He's still breathing. His glasses are off and I can catch a couple freckles dappled on his white-washed face.

I give him a sharp prod between the ribs, and there- I've broken the glass case. Normalcy is fucking regained.

He groans and flaps a hand at me, and I do him the courtesy of supplying another jab. "What the fuck is wrong with _you_ today?" I demand. "You were up long before I was yesterday, thanks a fucking lot."

He shoots me a death glare, and I catch my breath as the blue of his eye attempts to cut through me.

"Fine, whatever. See how much I care." I head to the door and put my hand on the knob, but when I sense him moving behind me, I stare into a corner while he changes, then gesture impatiently for him to get in front of me when he's finished.

He glares at me again. Wow, nice guy.

All through breakfast, he barely talks to me, and he crunches his cereal like it's done him a personal wrong. When I prompt him to speak (usually with a few choice swear words mixed in for variety), he gives me this look like he's a kicked puppy: a mixture of hurt and shame. It send a feeling horridly close to burning through my chest, which I try very hard to ignore.

When the breakfast is finally over, he jerks his head in a way that indicates for me to follow him. I hesitate before getting up... but what else can I do? I follow him a few hallways down to where we each file behind our own door. The hallway stretches on forever. My toes have preserved the cold from this morning.

The door in front of us opens to show a slight, short-haired woman with glasses and a gentle expression- the kind of expression that cuts you open with its charisma and frighteningly soft firmness.

"Sollux?" she says. "Are you ready?" It's more of a statement than a suggestion.

Sollux doesn't look at either her or me as he shuffles dejectedly into the room. The terrifying woman gives me a pleasant nod and the verdict of "Just wait there for now," and closes the door behind herself and my friend with a practiced _click. _I suddenly feel a violently protective anxiety towards the skinny blond boy. What if that poison apple lady kills him?

I slide down to the floor as casually as possible, and just happen to end up with my head near the door. It's a coincidence, of course. You can't blame me for a mere _coincidence. _It's not like I'm devising plans for what I'll do if she so much as _touches_ Sollux with her talon-words. It's not like I _care _if he leaves the room with more tears shed than when he came in.

I wonder how Sollux looks when he cries...

Anyway, it's not a very convenient coincidence, because I can only make out a few words (mostly hers), and some half-hearted mumbles and sighs (Sollux's). I want to dig my fingers into his shirt and tell him that he doesn't have to listen if he doesn't _want_ to, he will be _okay_.

I glance around quickly before peeking over one of my hoodie's sleeves. I wince. My arm looks mottled with dark maroon where some of the stitches were taken out, burgundy where shallow scabs still remain. Still fishing for snatches of dialogue through the door, I glare at the blank ceiling, evil in its pale glow.

One of my nails picks at a lighter scab. It itches. I swallow when the very edge of it comes loose, the sting of it sending prickles through my nose.

I glance furtively downward to see the small bead of rich, dark blood welling up on my skin. It's disgusting, like a pest.

I pull my sleeve back down, all the way over my fist, like it should be, and look and down the hallway for distraction from the roiling knot in my stomach. The whispers echoing from the tiles are louder than ever.

Finally, I scoot back to the other side of the hall, and the door opens once more. My heart gives an uncomfortable spike. Sollux shuffles back out, honey-blond hair shadowing his eyes and hands in his pockets. I'm not sure if it's relief or pain that I feel when I see that he hasn't cried.

"You may come in now," the woman says. When I stand up, I'm dizzy. I half-stumble through the door and into the room.

The walls here are surprisingly a rich, warm red. I blink at the sudden change in color. It looks like the walls were painted with my blood.

I drift hazily over to a cream-colored couch on the other side of the room. My knees gravitate to my chest, my short nails digging into my knees.

The woman closes the door and strides over to an armchair across from me. I eye her warily as she crosses her legs at the knee and flips to a new page on her clipboard.

When she looks up at me, I notice that her eyes are big and brown. They regard me through cat-eye frames. Her voice is cool and inviting as she says "So, I suppose you must be Karkat."

"Yeah, that's me." I run my fingertips over the ridges of my jeans.

"Then I welcome you to Well's. How have you been feeling so far?"

I want to disappear into a tiny pinprick in a sea of cream and scarlet. "Fine, I guess."

"Yeah?" she prompts gently.

I won't give her the pleasure of extrapolating. "Uh-huh."

"Well, my name is Laurie, Karkat. It's good to meet you."

I don't say a thing.

"You're room-mates with Sollux."

"Yep."

"How do you feel about him so far?"

I shrug.

From the corner of my eye, I see her nod 'understandingly.' "Would you like to tell me why you're here?"

I think of the way it had looked just a week ago: all silver, red, and brown. Then less brown, and more red, until I was drowning in myself.

Honesty is the best policy. "No. I don't want to tell you why I'm here." I glare up at her through my curls. "You already fucking know why I'm here. You can't make me tell you anything, because I don't need to be here, and I DON'T need YOU." I'm warming up now. "And don't you dare write that down on your goddamn clipboard, I'm not your fucking lab rat, jeez."

She puts down the clipboard, but continues to stare at me, unfazed, with that small, pleasant smile on her face. "The administration has already told me how you got here. Now is just your chance to admit your problems to someone. It can be quite a relief, actually; to get it out."

"'Relief,' my ass," I mumble. I hate the way I can hear how many times she's practiced her lines on a thousand other innocent victims.

She continues just to watch me. The silence in the room swells and threatens to choke me if I let it keep up. I blurt out the first thing I think of. "You know, it's not even my fault that I'm here in the first place. It was my shithead of a dad that made me come here."

"No one can 'make' you do anything, Karkat."

I scoff at her. What does she know, the damn shrink? "You'd be fucking surprised." Actually, I'm pretty impressed that she hasn't called me out on swearing yet.

"Does your dad make you do things, usually?" Her eyes are inquisitive, their brown gentle enough to murder.

"No!" I snap.

Her eyebrows raise.

"Well..." I scowl into the corner. "... not really."

"Do you feel like he does?"

"Well, I..." I swallow. "He doesn't _make _me do anything, I mean, it's not his _fault_ or some shit like that- I'm the _problem_, and I- well, I guess I don't really... know... what he..." I realize that I'm stammering, and squeeze my eyes shut, taking deep breaths. This isn't fair. This isn't fair at all.

"How about your mom?" she asks casually.

And suddenly, I'm sobbing, and I don't know how to stop. I try, I try, but I can't stop my chest from heaving convulsing... I've kept my self-control for years, so how is it that suddenly, all my defenses are broken?

I cry and cry, and mutter "fuck" from time to time, and all she does is stare at me.

I was stupid to think that anyone could care.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: No.**

**A/N: I am very sorry for the delay in updates, but I finally mapped out how I want this fic to go! It seems there will be about 18 chapters total, in case you wanted to know. I should be able to update steadily now, but if I ever miss a week, it will only be by one. Thank you guys for sticking with this!  
**

* * *

On Friday morning, I sit in the office on a red, plastic chair, swinging my legs against the rough, beige carpet. The offices here are very different from the rest of the building in their color, but they smell just the same: like disinfectant and old sweaters. A receptionist sits at a wide, smooth desk in the middle. In little cubicles to the side of the office are all patients sitting in chairs with phones pressed desperately to their ears.

When one girl comes out (shaking her head and wiping her eyes), our attendant lets one more person in, and the line moves down. With each new person, I am closer to having my first conversation with my dad since I got here. I really, really don't know how I want to feel about that.

I watch Sollux from where I sit as I get closer and closer to my impending doom. He's in one stall on the end, and he isn't crying. He taps his foot against the floor as he speaks, and when he stretches or moves, I get the feeling that his body has to find itself all over again. He's gesturing with his free hand even though the other person can't see him (obviously)- seeming to pat down something in the air as he rolls his eyes.

I wonder who he's trying to calm, and I realize that I really don't know a whole lot about his life. I mean, I know what music and food he likes and doesn't like... I know he's tried to... kill himself... and he's bipolar, which are both things I consider pretty personal. I know he's been here a pretty long time, and I know that, no matter how he may deny it, he must get sad. Just like me.

But I don't know why he tried to do it. I don't know where he goes to school, or if he has both parents, or if he has siblings, for that matter. I don't know if he gets good grades. I don't know how long he's been wearing glasses.

I feel... a million miles away. A million miles away from everybody. I'm floating through the room on legs that don't belong to me.

It's an odd feeling, but not unfamiliar.

I can tell that Sollux grew pretty quickly, and probably still is. His jeans seem to be reaching for his ankles, but not being quite able to find them. He looks uncomfortable in his own skin, and a million miles away from himself.

Somehow, that just makes me feel more alone.

Finally, it's my turn. I fit myself into one of the cubicles and shakily remove the phone from its receiver. Trying not to think about it, I dial my home phone number and sit down carefully as it rings.

"Hello?" a male voice answers form the other side.

I keep breathing. "Hi, dad. Um, it's me."

"Oh, Karkat-" he says. "I didn't know you would call."

"Yeah, hi." I swallow. "... They let us call home on Fridays."

"I see," he says. In the tense silence between us, I get the distinct feeling that he doesn't want to hear from me at all.

Obviously, it's not like I didn't already know _that_, it's just...

"How are you doing?" he asks. "Things coming along well?"

"Uh, yeah," I manage awkwardly. "I mean... it's kinda weird. I think there are something like fifty other people here... They have all these freaky rules, too. Like, we can't use ballpoint pens. And we're not allowed to touch each other. Maybe they think we're violent or something, I don't freaking know." I laugh nervously. The shortness of my breath makes me sound like Sollux.

"Oh... I see." He makes a staticky coughing sound. "Have you, ah, made any friends?"

My heart skips a beat. "I have a room-mate." I don't understand why it feels so strange talking to my dad about Sollux, like they're in seperate worlds and I'm yelling across galaxies. I squeeze my knee with my free hand. "He's kind of a freak, but. You know." I breathe, breathe. "I guess it's kinda like that. His name is Sollux. He's pretty weird. He's super skinny somehow, and he has, like, two of everything for some reason. Favorite colors, different eye colors, that kind of thing."

"Oh," he says shortly. He must really think that Sollux might have a bad influence on me, or something.

I suddenly feel very protective. "It's not like he's a bad _guy_, or anything," I try to elaborate. "Just a little... yeah. But he's... nice, really."

"So, Karkat." I didn't know it was possible for me to feel more tense. Apparently, it was. "How are things coming along? Do you think you're getting any better?"

I freeze. My silence crystallizes in my ears and all around me. I stare at my ghost-like reflection in the glass, and time seems to slow down. My mind feels heavy and fuzzy, like a wool comforter. I press my fingertips to the glass. It is lukewarm. My nail scratches a seam.

"Karkat?"

"Yeah," I hear myself saying. "Yeah, sure."

His voice sounds a little louder, a bit more demanding. Foreign. "Karkat. Look, you know I do have to pay for this." My finger runs up and down the glass. It isn't smooth, or some shit like that. It has traction. I tap at it. Woah. "This is ridiculous."

"M-hm."

"You know I didn't want to take you in the first place..." He sighs. The glass hums at me. My lungs are tiny. "Just... get back as soon as you can."

"Yes."

"All right, well..."

"Yeah. Bye."

I wait for him to say something. He doesn't.

I put the phone back. It clicks.

I'd take a deep breath if I could. If I knew how.

* * *

"Who did you call?" Sollux asks me in our spare time.

I'm sitting in a ball on my bed, blinking and not really trying to get back to reality. "I called my dad. It was fucking weird."

"Yeah."

"How about you?"

I suddenly wonder if he has a girlfriend. My heart does a weird contortion, flipping off the back of a balance beam and landing in a cheesy ninja pose. What the fuck, body. What the fuck.

"My brother."

I blink. "You have a brother?"

He rolls his eyes. "Obviously, asshat."

I scowl. "_Fine,_ I was just-"

"We're twins," he continues. "His name's Mituna."

I hand him a look of indignation on a silver platter. No one cuts of Karkat Vantas in the middle of a rant. That's almost... impressive? He pulls his laptop up on his knees and turning to the side, leaning against the headboard. "Maybe you could meet him sometime. Over the phone."

I roll my eyes. "Sure, I'd love to talk to another messed-up freak. Does he have a lisp, too?" Actually, it makes me sort of happy, but he doesn't need to know that.

He releases the short, breathy laugh that I've already gotten used to. "You might not want to call him that, actually. He's not really dangerous when Latula's taking care of him, but _she-_" He laughs again. "Well, she's protective, to say the least. She takes care of him."

I wait for him to elaborate. When he doesn't, I ask him, "_Why_ does he need someone taking care of him?"

Sollux continues to type at ease, but not looking at me. "He had a pretty bad fall when we were young. He's been kinda messed up since, so Tula and the other people at his home take care of him, mostly."

"Oh..." I try to think of the socially acceptable response. "That must be hard."

He shrugs. "It's just funny, mostly. Really, I think you'll like him. He's usually either freaking out, dirty-talking, or apologizing. He's a pain to talk to, but looking back at our conversations, the amusement outweighs the embarrassment. I don't know how Tula deals with him, but there you go."

"He sounds... interesting. Not that I'm exactly surprised. I don't know how I thought that any family of yours could be normal."

"How about you?" he asks. "How freakish is your family?"

I gulp. No way am I going to tell him about my parents, and I don't have any brothers or sisters. "Well, I have a cousin. Just one, from my mom's side, but he's a lot darker-skinned than I am. His name is Kankri. He's..."

Sollux raises his eyebrows.

"Oh, shut up!"

"I didn't say anything."

"I was saying that he's really fucking annoying. Like, he will just go on and ON about the dumbest topics, and he thinks that everything is offensive. He keeps trying to get me to stop swearing. I-"

"I can see why you two don't get along," he muses.

"Captor," I tell him. "What part of 'shut the fuck up' doesn't wriggle its way into your pitiful excuse of a brain?"

"It's not very pitiful, actually," he says. "It's pretty awesome, up in here. Just flying around... being awesome at computers... being two thousand times better at programming than KK will ever be..."

I go off at him, but when he smiles like a complete shitface at his laptop, I somehow get the idea that that was what he wanted in the first place.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Homestuck. I do not own the books on Laurie's shelf (which are real books, by the way).  
**

**A/N: this is the longest chapter so far. Can I get a hell yeah! By the way, I just really like writing John through other people's eyes. It is so fun. One-sided Anyone/John is fun. Torturous, but very fun. XD  
**

**Onward, we go.**

* * *

"Do you have anything you'd like to talk about today?"

"No."

I'm sitting on Laurie whats-her-face's couch with my chin on my pulled-up knees, glaring at the wall. The paint is chipped in the corner. I hate her.

"That was a bit of an episode that happened last time."

"We are NOT fucking talking about that."

"I think we should." She doesn't have her clipboard with her today, but she leans a little forward in her chair all the same. I wonder if it's a coping mechanism.

"Well, I. Don't. So there, we aren't talking." I absolutely refuse to look at her. I will not spare her a glance, I will not.

"You could at least... tell me what happened? There must be a reason why you were so upset."

I growl. "What part of 'shut the fuck up' do you not understand? I said I'm not talking about it! Anything else, fine, okay, let's fucking go, but I said no, and that's final. Now, if you want to keep talk-raping me, go right the fuck ahead, but it's not my fucking fault if I'm going to need therapy, you disgusting _cow._ I could call fucking 9-1-1 on your ass and tell them you forced me into suicide, how would you like that?"

"Have you ever tried to commit suicide, Karkat?"

"NO!" I just barely resist from screaming. "Oh my fucking God, _no!_"

"But the cuts were very deep. If I remember correctly, you needed a great deal of stitches."

I try to roll my eyes without seeing her. "Do you people seriously think I was trying to kill myself? Jesus H. Crap on a popsicle stick, I'm not that stupid. And if I wanted myself dead, I'm pretty sure I'd be _dead _by now, not talking to some freaky lady in a mental hospital."

I can catch her nodding slowly in my peripheral vision. "Well, what _would_ you like to talk about, Karkat?"

"Well, Leonardo Di Caprio for starters," I scoff.

"All right. Tell me about Leonardo."

I look at her now, if only to express my complete scorn and incredulity. "Laurie, have you been engaging in substance abuse? I think you may need help with your poor life choices. Let me just stick this pencil up my ass so I can talk to you like a supercilious bastard high on my own self-worth."

"Karkat," she says coolly, her infallible calm refusing to break. "You know that you do, in fact, have problems you need to sort out. Your dad is paying for this, and insurance doesn't allow a whole lot."

I deflate a little inside. "If you're trying to guilt trip me, it's not working."

"Well, think about it this way: the sooner you get better, the sooner you can get out of here."

I nod slowly, grudgingly. "Finally, you're talking sense."

"Very well. Are you willing to talk know?"

I sigh exasperatedly. "Fine, whatever. Hit me with your best shot, 'cause I'm fucking loaded."

"Let's start, then." She sounds contented. "Is there anything you'd like to discuss first? I thought I'd check."

I consider this. I would refuse, but it's my choice or not how painful this has to be. "Fine, I guess. My teenage angst is a pretty extensive pile of shit, though. Your pyscho-shovels can't even handle this. You might want to bring a forklift."

"What angst?"

"Well, you know... love problems and crap. Like, my relationships pretty much suck to the ends of the Earth."

"How so?"

I sigh to hide the intense shivers that just ran down my spine. "Like, there was this... kid... okay? Like, I don't mean _kid_ kid, we're the same age, just... I really liked... them. A lot, for a long time? And they didn't like me back, so... there you go. Romantic crisis, level: stereotypical."

"It hurt you, though."

I crane my head upwards to stare at the ceiling. Unlike the rest of the room, it's white and blank, like the rest of the building. Like cream. "Yeah. A bit." I swallow.

"Did you ever tell this person your feelings?" she asks gently.

"... Not really. They're kind of... an oblivious person. The kind of person who doesn't really get stuff. You know when you watch a horror movie, and there's always that one blonde chick who wants to go into the haunted house and make friends with the ghosts?... That person. Didn't really get it."

"M-hm."

"And... they were always... kind of freakishly happy. All the time. It was kind of annoying, actually, 'cause we were best friends for a long time, see, and I had to listen to all these kinds of fantasies, but at the same time, you know, it wasn't... that big of a deal. I kind of liked it."

"Do you usually like being around happy people?"

I snort and bring my head back down to my knees. "Not really. That's the thing. It was kind of... special. In its own way." I take a deep, shuddering breath. My jeans smell like home, and I suddenly just want to sleep. "I guess it's my fault, you know?" I mumble into my pants, my breath warming my legs. "Because I'm always... well, me. And... they... just, too good. Too good for me, and I _knew _that, of course I fucking knew that, but I _wanted..._" The space behind my eyelids is dark and warm.

She waits.

"Okay, I'm good on that topic," I force out as I open my eyes. The light feels too bright, too abrasive. "Do I win an Oscar? 'Cause that is some gold-medal shit right there, I mean, I could star in a movie."

"All right," she says easily. "Would you like to move on?"

I blink. The room suddenly comes into focus. I can see every detail in the incense burner in the corner. I read the title of one of her books on her bookshelf: _The Importance of Feeling Inferior. _"Captor's fucking weird, you know that?"

"Oh?"

"A lot." I read the next title. _The Art of Being Awake and Aware in Your Dreams._ "Yesterday in group he drew a picture of a purple crab and went, 'KK look, it'th you.' I mean, what the fuck?" I actually laugh. It sounds strange to my own ears.

"What did you draw?"

The corner of my mouth twitches. "A whole lot of bumblebees."

"Why bumblebees?"

"Well, we were supposed to partner up and draw what animal the other person would be. Fuck if I know why, that bitch is off her rocker. But he loves bees for some reason, big time. See what I mean? Total freak. But I wanted to make him a bumblebee because I heard that thing about them not being able to sting you. I remember this one time when I was a little kid, and... that person, the one I mentioned earlier, just walked right up to one and petted it, like it was a fuzzy little kitten or something." I shake my head in slow amazement. "But it was funny, anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." I parody a smile. "He's not so bad. That Captor guy. Don't tell him I said anything, though, or he'll never stop laughing at me."

"Don't worry," Laurie assures me, sounding a little warm. "I'm not allowed to talk about what happens in these sessions to anyone else."

I breathe out into the dust motes. "Yeah, all right." My hands rub my shins absentmindedly, and I almost feel a little better. Better like throwing up while you're sick, but getting to sleep afterwords. I chew on the inside of my cheek, and suddenly realize that I haven't cut for more than a week. I mean, it's not like I _could,_ but... damn. I need to find something sharp. _Soon._ I swallow.

"There is one thing I would like to ask, if it couldn't be too much trouble," she says. Her voice is clear, crackling through the dry air.

"Shoot."

"I know that when I mentioned your mother, you were very upset, but I was wondering if you could perhaps find a good thing to focus on about her. A memory, or a feeling. You wouldn't have to tell me about it, just imagine it."

I look at her. Her eyes are big, innocent, and hopeful. "Well, aren't you sappy."

"Just try."

"Should I close my eyes so you can observe me and form a hypothesis, Miss Freud?"

"If you want."

"Whatever. I guess." I return my face to my kneecaps, the hollow pockets of my skull fitting into them like puzzle pieces. It's easy to feel safe when it's dark and there is pressure on my eyes. I am all alone, floating... like a raft in a vast, deep ocean.

As usual, things always come back to John.

_"Come _on_," I'm saying._

_He cocks his head, a flash; white neck, bright blue, and a shock of black hair- a gust of wind, a falling thing._

I remember this. I remember feeling anxious and persistent. It seemed important at the time. We were nine. I was wearing a battered pain of sneakers, _firm and familiar on my rocking feet..._

_We're standing in his yard in front of his plain, white house. The wind sweeps through his hair and makes the rope swing sigh and creak. The dry, beige leaves rustle and click from the hard ground._

_I shiver in my sweater. "John, please. She just got back, and she said she'd make cookies."_

_"Eh." But he's smiling, he's teasing. He has that sparkle-eye look._

_I suck in my cheeks and grab the sleeve of his shirt. It's not usually me who touches him, and I don't mean that in a weird way; it's just that when he wants me to go somewhere, he'll just take my hand and pull me along. He hugs me when he's happy, almost every day, and he shoves me around a lot. He doesn't hurt me. He's not strong. He just likes it, I think._

(Stupid stupid, dumb, dumb, how could I have been such a naive fucking little _idiot..._)

_The fabric of his sleeve feels cool and soft in my hand, and just a little dangerous. Cool and soft and a little bit thrilling, and little bit..._

_ He grins. _

_"Come ON."_

_"Okay." He is bright, a bright little boy, so bright and brilliant and it makes me hurt somewhere deep inside. Honest hurt, like a pinch in my breastbone that makes it kind of hard to breathe. The small ache is comforting to me. I barely notice it, because it's always there when I'm around John, and that's normal. I figure it's just a part of him, like his knobbly knees or his long, dark eyelashes that get stuck together when he blinks, and how he bites his lip and furrows his dark, thick eyebrows when he's concentrating.  
_

_We run._

_He wins._

_He bursts through my screen door in front of me, all boundless energy and scrawny limbs, and I rush in behind him, the brisk autumn air burning in my throat, a whirlwind._

_She's there in the kitchen, smelling like a wash of cinnamon and butter._

_"Hi, Karkat's Mom!" John says._

_"Mama!" I shout, my arms held wide, my curls tousled in my face._

_She sweeps me into a warm, lovely hug. My head comes up to her waist. Even her clothes smell like home._

_She bends down to my level, and I can put my face in her hair now, long, thick, curly hair that smells like coconut shampoo and cigarette smoke. Her skin is the color of hot chocolate milk in the sun._

_"Hi there, Karkat. You ready to eat some cookies?"_

_"Yeah!" I'm hungry. (I'm always hungry, always, even when I'm full.)_

_We eat them straight from the oven, the butter and sugar goodness sticking to our faces._

_She brushes my hair back from my forehead. "You need a haircut, sweetie."_

_She's laughing. I remember her laughing. I don't remember what her laugh really sounded like._

_I'm on my fourth when John asks her, "Where were you?" His foot gently kicks against the rickety table leg. _Thunk. Thunk.

_I answer for her. "She went to see her doctor to get new medicine. It's better now. Right, Mama?"  
_

_She smiles. "Yes. We're sure this one will work out."_

_"That's good, right?"_

_"Right."_

_"You can play more often then, right?"_

_"So many questions!" She laughs again, ruffling my hair._

_I feel good. Really good._

_I haven't felt that way since._

_The next time she left, she stayed away for longer, and she came back bald. I kept a bag of her thick, chunky, dead hair in my closet. I would stare at it sometimes._

I was a weird kid.

_She wore neon blue wigs._

She was brave. Very brave.

I'm breathing fast with the memory, hard and sharp and a little bit dangerous. It's dark in my cocoon. I don't want to return to this place.

I lift up my head. It is a leaden weight. It sinks on my arm.

I open my eyes, and all is silent in the small, red room.

"Did you think of anything?" she asks.

"Yeah."

She waits.

I lean back into the couch.

"How do you feel?"

I stare at the wood of her bookshelf itself, transfixed. I see past it; my eyes blur, unfocused. My breathing stops and swings. I have to remind myself: _in and out. It's only air. _My tongue is thick, tired. "Fine."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

Damn, was I a dumb kid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Shitty little kid. You aren't worth anything.

_And you couldn't... you couldn't..._

"No."

* * *

The fighting came afterwords, of course. I had a noisy family.

In the dark, I would sit in a ball by my parents' door, listening. Our house had thin walls. Does.

_Muffled noises, snatches of conversation._

_I flinched at explosions. "DAMMIT, JOYCE!"_

_"He needs... I just want... be safe... possibility..."_

_"It ISN'T GOING TO HAPPEN!"_

_"What if..."  
_

_"NO." My eyes are wide in the dark, wide and racing and unblinking, trembling. "You AREN'T GOING TO LEAVE US."_

_There is silence, and I crawl back to my room._

_I never asked her the question, but I thought it all the time._

She was so alive, so alive.

* * *

Something in me crumbles.

_Exhausted, exhausted._

I'll wait for morning.


End file.
